“Brando, the kids—”
“Would you rather them hear this,” he said, stalking towards me as he removed his shirt, throwing it to the bed. “Or hear you scream?”
“If you’re giving me the choice.This.” My words came out cool, collected, but a shiver racked me from inside out.
“Pensavo così,” he said, never removing his stare from my face.
My cheeks started to rush with blood, and I felt hot down to my toes.
Stopping before me, he removed the knife he kept tucked against his lower leg, hidden underneath his pants. It glinted silver in the glow of the soft light from the lamps in our room.
“Do you like this fucking scrap that’s considered a ‘skirt,’ my wife?”
“I do,” I barely got out. “Just like Iloveour jacket. The skirt matches.”
“Mmm,” he said, studying the knife. Eyes returning to mine, his hand dipped lower, running the blade up my leg, so soft that he was hardly touching me. I shivered again. It was the knife I’d used to claim him in Paris years ago, right before we were married. “I fucking don’t like it.”
Reaching the tip of the skirt, he stabbed the point of the blade through and ripped upwards. The fake leather split in two as easily as if it were made of paper. It fell to the floor in a silent whisper.
His eyes gazed down before coming right back up.
“No layers,” I said, breathless.
“You’re learning,” he said, his free hand roving along my side, feeling for what wasn’t there, my bra, like there was nothing underneath the skirt.
His hand roamed up, and he hooked a finger at the hem of the t-shirt, gliding it up with a soft touch, throwing it over the “scrap” after he stripped me down to nothing but flesh.
“I would’ve hated to cut that one. I like what’s mine on you when we’re out in public. Our jacket especially.” His hand came up to cup my breast. “About fucking time. I hate fucking layers.”
Setting the knife on the bed, he turned back to me, putting a hand to each side of my head. He came in close, acting like he was going to kiss me, and then moved his mouth when I went to kiss him.
He grinned when I pouted, but then the grin melted into something even more fierce when he came in close again and I went to bite his lip.
My teeth snapped, coming mighty close. He was too quick though.
“Close,” I said, licking my lips, wanting desperately to lick his. Run my tongue over the lush wideness of his mouth. The taste of him lingered from memory, and I craved it. “For an innocent creature, I bite. Rememberthat,ah?”
“I’d never forget. If a man’s smart, he learns really quick what his woman’s about. Five seconds in, I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. You were going to kill me and save me.”
“I’ve done a bit of both, haven’t I?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out, and I opened my mouth, breathing him in. He studied me for a moment, his eyes deep into mine, touching my soul. “The rose isn’t worth the beauty if you don’t bleed for its thorns, though. I’ve always been prepared to bleed for this.” He kissed me—a gentle touch that lingered even after he took his lips from mine.
I went to touch his face, but he took my wrist and pinned it next to my face. Same with the other hand.
“I want to touch you,” I whispered, pushing against his grip.
He pressed himself against me, heart straining in his chest, another area much lower straining against his pants. He rocked into me, and my eyes closed, a moan escaping my lips.
“Let me go,” I said.
“Never.”
I smiled and his mouth gave in to mine.
After I gave birth at the dance studio to Maestro, we had been set free—not from the usual life struggles, but from the monsters that were always nipping at my heels. The beast that fell in love with me constantly risking his life to save mine.
It took distance for me to realize that the deeper into the woods we’d gone, the stronger this peculiar sense of mine became. It almost seemed to accommodate for the risks of danger. Sometimes it over-accommodated, and I found myself confused, sometimes even leading us in the wrong direction.
